


A Magic Trick

by sunshinetina



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, kids!Sherlock, kidslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kid!Sherlock and Kid!John are playing with fake guns, and Sherlock pretends he is dead. A small ficlet is inspired by the fabulous art of 'thebritishteapot' on tumblr. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Magic Trick

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer1: This small ficlet is inspired by the fabulous art of 'thebritishteapot' on tumblr, in particular, this one: http://thebritishteapot.tumblr.com/post/19727903173/a-magic-trick
> 
> Dislaimer2: I apologise for not being to update my other fanfiction – for neither I had a laptop for the last 2 weeks and a half, nor I had any spare time. I'll try to write another chapter of it asap.

John took the old pistol his father has given to him and pointed it directly at me. I was standing right in front of him, most definitely not amused, with kinda bored and emotionless face – I could tell, by John’s exacting look.

 

‘C’mon, Sherlock! Put some emotion here!’ John’s little hands with the smallest fingers I’ve ever seen – pardon me, but mine are muuuuch muuuuch longer, didn’t even tremble. God! He had nerves of steel! It’s good that I’ve taken all the bullets out. He takes the idea of being a soldier rather too much to his heart.

 

‘Do you really think this is a funny game?’ I myself had a small pistol in my right hand – Mr Watson wanted to surprise both John and me about month ago, when he retired.

 

John stood there, with a blank face but with the most intense dark-blue gaze one has ever seen, still directing his bulletless little gun at me. I sighed – probably, a little bit heavier than I should have, for he pulled the trigger. It produced a creaking sound in the dead silent room.

 

‘If you keep complaining, you’ll be the first to die!’

 

Right. John was just too much into this stupid game. I had to deal with this somehow. Clever, clever, Sherlock – you’re not an ordinary boy but sometimes you should think like one-... Oh! Yes! Of course!

 

There was always too much jam in our fridge – an obsession of John that I still cannot fully understand. Mummy gave me a jar when John came today – to eat together in my room. I think I’ve put it somewhere here... Fine. There it is. Just somewhere beneath... all these clothes of mine... Disgusting.

 

_Bang! Peew! Peew! Bang!_

I pressed the small jar cap which opened a little, producing a ‘bang’ sound, mixing with the creaking of the trigger. The jam was poured all over me. Definitely disgusting.

 

‘Arghhh!’ John stood there – eyes wide-opened, motionless, ‘John, those weren’t fake guns!’

 

‘What?’ John jumped and slowly approached me, ‘O... Oh... Of course they are! You know Daddy gave us his oldest ones that are out of use! Sherlock?!’

 

Dramatically, Sherlock. Dramatic falling. Eeeeeeeeh... bam! Wonderful. You should practice that more often. Dramatic falling, you know.

 

‘Sherlock! Stop kidding!’

 

No, actually, now I’m thinking of a better and certainly higher place to jump off from... Good I’m laying now, so I can think about that while John is in his ‘Panic Palace’.

 

‘Aaahhh...’

 

Oh, Sherlock, this was the sound Ma makes when her leg is in pain – not too plausible for a dying person.

 

Silence. Fine – thank you, John.

 

Probably, when I become older, I can try jumping off a roof or something. But without the bungee stuff. Bungee jumping is boring.

 

Applauses, Sherlock, you’re just brilliant. You made him believe you’re dead.

 

_John?_ Oh, for God’s sake! He’s probably mourning now. _My stupid John!_

‘Joking!’ I raise my right hand. I open my eyes and meet his grumpy red face.

 

He stands up and walks away – his legs slipping over the sticky raspberry jam. He’s angry. Pff...

 

‘John!’

 

No answer.

 

‘John! I was just trying to make the game more interesting! You don’t have any bullets in your stupid gun – how can I possibly be dead?’

 

‘I don’t know,’ he murmurs, ‘Is it iodine?’

 

He sits on the floor – at the other corner of the room, and wraps his arms around his legs.

 

‘It’s iodine!’ I lie, smiling just a bit. Ok, this was too much – I have to admit. I can feel pain in my chest when I watch John’s back in front of me. I know for sure he’ll start sobbing now. This would kill me.

 

‘John?’ I approach him. God! This jam is soooo sickening sticky!

 

‘John, what would you say if I was dead?’

 

Silence. Is he sobbing already?

 

‘I don’t even want to think about that!’

 

_Why?_ Jumping off a roof was a good idea. I’ll take John to watch me. Though, I have to plan it more thoroughly... A jam won’t work.

 

‘Oh! Don’t worry, John! You’ll be dead years before me cause you’re older,’ _Sherlock, no logic in that!_ ‘Or because of the tons of jam you eat!’

 

The jam was an over-exaggeration, I accept that.

 

‘Don’t be dead!’

 

Right. John is not in his best mode of thinking today. Not very creative, at least.

 

‘Well, this would be pretty remarkable, but if I’m dead this cannot happen...’

 

John shivers a bit and swallows back his tears.

 

‘Fine. Then...’ he wraps his arms around his tiny legs even tighter, ‘I was so alone... And I owe you so much.’

 

Silence. This is not fair. I’ve already written that in my will. Plagiarism!

 

‘No.’

 

John unwraps one of his hands and sniffs like a small puppy. Yes, finally he sensed it was a jam! He dips his small finger in the sticky dense liquid and then puts the finger in his mouth. His eyes widen once again.

 

‘Why not, Sherlock?’

 

‘Because...’ I can feel my cheeks redden. I hate when John makes me feel so miserable, ‘Because these were my words, John... Because these are the words **I** would say if you die.’

 

Without even standing up, John leans back, unwraps his other hand, dips his fingers in the jam flowing from my clothes, and draws a heart right next to me, on the fitted carpet.

 

‘And never ever spoil my favourite raspberry jam again! Understood, Sherlock?’ I can hear him chuckling. He is not that stupid – at the end of the day I can always see that. Cause he is the best friend of Sherlock Holmes. My best friend. _The only one in the world._


End file.
